One in the left shoulder.
And one in the right.
Malynko fell back and the world shook as his body hit the ground. One final thunderclap sounded. As the skies went quiet, he understood the magnitude of what his murder meant. Fear laced his dying breath.
***
Laphelle
That felt good. But not as good as he always thought it would be. Unfortunately, there was no triumphant laughter from his lips, as he'd expected, no feeling of great justice. After the last bullet had been fired, all he felt was emptiness.
He slowly lowered the smoking gun and averted his eyes to Gidyon's. The angel of light lay frozen in shock, his jaw slightly dropped. Christine held tight to him, her face buried into his chest. Laphelle let the gun slip out of his weak, trembling fingers, and the rains began to fall.
The gentle waters poured from the heavens, baptizing the two angels in a healing shower that washed away their differences, lifting the veil from their sight, and they knew they were the same.
***
Gidyon
Gidyon rose to his feet, Christine staying close to his legs. Unable to tear his wide eyes away from Laphelle, he slowly walked towards him. Cool droplets streamed down the sides of his face, moistening his hair, washing the perspiration and blood from his skin. He stopped a couple steps away from the blond rogue and stood motionless, staring, amazed, his soul overflowing with fearful wonder.
"What have you done?" he asked.
Laphelle looked down, as did Gidyon. Christine, holding to the rogue's pant leg, held up the Sivli's sheath. The First Rank took it from her, his wet face solemn.
"Hide her eyes," he said.
Gidyon held the girl close and turned her head away from Laphelle. Laphelle put the sheath on his back and winced. He walked to Malynko's body and took the silver sword, removing its sheath from the Elitist and strapping it around his own waist. Then, after placing the tip of the blade against Malynko's chest, he ignited the body. The Elitist turned to ashes.
Then, walking much slower, he approached Noam. Gidyon wanted to cry out in protest, but then saw the blood dripping down Laphelle's back, mixing with the falling rain. He lost his breath.
"Laphelle," he said.
The Fallen angel said in a whisper, "I did it."
"You?" Gidyon felt faint. "You."
Just after he placed the tip of the blade at the Thanatakran's feet, Laphelle froze. "He's still alive."
"What?" Gidyon turned to Christine. "Princess, stay right here in this spot. It's almost time to go home." He ran to Laphelle's side and looked down at Noam. "You won't kill him? You won't kill me? Why?"
"Can you fly?" Laphelle asked, looking at Gidyon's wounded wing.
"Yes! Laphelle, tell me what has happened!"
"Take the girl away from all this destruction."
"But will you not kill us as you are commanded to do?"
"I have renounced my position as an angel of darkness." His eyes flickered, and he said with darkness on his tongue, "Leave before I change my mind."
He moved from Gidyon's side and walked away from the mansion. But he stopped beside the broken sundial.
"I hate this ignorant creature that I have become," he said. "Though Jack is right. I am what I am, wings or not. But I will no longer fight in this war. For either side."
He turned to face the stretching black forest beyond the backyard. Gidyon's heart ached, not knowing what possibly could have led him to such a decision. It amazed and terrified him. Then, he remembered Michael.
"Laphelle! The Archangel Michael! He's coming for us! He'll kill you!"
"I'm dead already."
Gidyon's spirits lifted as he saw in the rogue what he'd longed to see in Malynko: a realization, a revelation, a regret.
So it was possible.
He walked over to the weary warrior, and stood by his side.
"So that is what I will tell him," he said. "Farewell."
His crystal glowed with gathered energy, and he lightly stroked Laphelle's back. Then, with supernatural swiftness, he gathered Christine and Noam under each arm and took to the skies.
He did not look back.
***
Max
Max was waiting for them when they arrived. He quickly opened the door, and immediately Christine pulled herself away from Gidyon and ran to the man. Holding her tight, Max saw the limp, bleeding Thanatakran in the healer's arms.
"Oh, no!" he said, clearing a long couch for Noam. "Place him here! Can you not heal him?"
"I can't," Gidyon said. "But we defeated Malynko."
He laid Noam down, and Max rushed to the linen closet to grab as many sheets as he could with Christine in his arms.
"Here!" he said as he returned. "Use as many of these as you need!" He set the girl down and covered his mouth with his hand. "Oh, please let him be all right."
Christine hugged his legs, and he reached down and picked her up again. She wiped his tears that streamed down under his spectacles. He looked at her, forcing a smile. He couldn't bear to think about what she might have been through.
"Noam will be okay," she said. "Gidyon said so."
Then, appearing as if by the blade of some giant, invisible knife, a blinding rip appeared in the air of the living room. Gidyon glanced down at his glowing crystal, halting for a moment from his tearing of the sheets. He rushed over to the bright rip.
"It's the gate!" he said. "It's Michael!"
Coming through the cosmic tear was a grand angel, standing nine feet tall, his holy wings bright as sparkling daylight. Christine gasped. Michael's silver eyes shone. His hair was short, also silver, with gold and copper streaks running through it. His body was adorned in shining gold armor. He looked as if no one in the universe could defeat him.
"Hello, Gidyon," he said, his voice noble and deep. Then he looked at Noam. "Did we make it in time?"
"Yes," Gidyon said as two other angels came through the portal, each with sword in hand. "We have won the battle. But Noam has been wounded by the Sivli. I don't know how much longer he has."
"Take him to Raphael," Michael told his soldiers, and they carried Noam's body toward the rip. "And tell the others that there will be no battle."
The soldiers nodded, expressionless, and went through. Max could not stop staring up at the giant figure in his living room. The great Archangel looked down at the man, and a big grin spread across his bronze face. He was pure strength. Pure power.
"I'm glad you're on our side," Max said, his eyes sparkling. "Aren't you, Christine?"
Christine nodded, and Max put her down.
"I'll give you a few minutes to say goodbye," Michael told Gidyon. "Take care, humans. You have our gratitude. God bless."
And with the air of a knight of old, he went through the bright gate. The healer turned to Max and smiled warmly.
"Everything will be okay now," he said. "They'll take good care of Noam. If he's still alive, he still has a good chance of survival. Raphael isn't the head of my Order for nothing."
Max's heart wrenched as he realized that this would probably be the last time he ever saw Gidyon, or any other angel for that matter. Without a word, the healer walked over to him and gave him a firm, heartfelt hug.
"Thank you for everything, Max Edenton," he said. "Take good care of the girl."
He pulled away.
"Goodbye, Gidyon!" said Christine.
The angel lowered to his haunches and smiled at her. "You take care of Max. He's a silly old man, and will need a good princess like you."
She wrapped her arms around his neck and sniffed back her tears. Then, after kissing him five times on the cheek, she let him go and ran to Max. The man placed a hand on her copper cap of hair and smoothed it. He stared at the angel who had changed his life forever.
"We'll miss you," he said.
"Just pray. God will send me the message."
Before Gidyon turned to walk away, he gave one last wink to Christine. Then he lifted his head and l
eapt through the portal.
The brilliant rip closed up and Max's living room returned to normal, the electric lights seeming dimmer now than they had before.
He knew now that there was no hope of finding Harry, but didn't dare mention it to Gidyon. The angel had sacrificed enough already. Max's nerves were still calming down when he heard Christine sniffle back a few last tears.
"Well," he said, looking down at her, "I guess it's just you and me, now."
He looked at his watch. Time hadn't stopped. Life still went on. And with it was the choice either to be weak or be brave.
"Hmm," he said. "It's a little late for dinner. A little too early for breakfast. How 'bout we have dinfast?"
Christine giggled. "That's not a word!"
"I just made it up. Go on to the kitchen and fetch my cookbook. You can pick anything you like for dinfast. It can be a meal or dessert."
"Okay!"
She skipped to the kitchen, not a bit of her charm gone. Max smiled at her courage. He knew that he would never be so lighthearted after staying a week with Malynko. As he was about to join her for dinfast, a knock at his door startled him.
Striding suspiciously to the door, he tried to imagine who it could be at this hour. No luck. He unlocked the latch.
When he pulled it open, he gasped and stepped back.
Harry.
Max couldn't breathe. Tears flooded to his eyes. Harry, looking healthier than ever before—he positively beamed!—bit his lip and began to cry. A grin of pure joy spread across Max's face. He couldn't believe his eyes. Leaning against the doorframe beside Harry, Adam grinned and waved his hand.
"I hope he's not past curfew, Mr. Edenton," he said.
"No," said Max, a joyous laugh escaping his lips. "No, you're on time, boys! You're on time!"
He wept and attacked Harry with a monstrous hug.
"I've got so much to tell you," Harry said.
"I'm ready to hear." His voice was choked with tears. "And I have some stories for you as well!"
"Aww," Adam said. "Isn't that sweet?"
Max invited them both in for "dinfast." But before they exchanged stories to catch up on the agonizing period of their separation, he introduced Adam and Harry to Christine. He quickly whispered the short version of her story to them, and they both nodded, Adam muttering a curse and a promise of what he'd do to her old father if he ever met him. Harry gave her a hug and told her he was really glad to have a little sister.
All through the early morning, the four ate, and laughed, and cried, telling their stories about the angels. The morning brought on a new life for Max, where growth through the trials of living had made him stronger, and his love for those dear to him much richer.
***
Gidyon
Before heading off to the distant worlds where his aid was surely needed, Gidyon stood within Edenton Manor, invisible to the human eye behind that veil that separates time and eternity. And he watched, his essence beaming, as Max was reunited with his son.
***
Laphelle
The rain had stopped.
Laphelle stood outside of the cathedral on the outskirts of Edenton. A new dawn was coming, and he stared at the temple's closed doors. His back no longer ached, thanks to Gidyon's healing touch, but his body was weak from loss of blood.
He took a step toward the church.
All of his known existence, he had hated such buildings, despised their very foundations. The holy edifices were stronger than he was. But he wondered if perhaps now things were different.
Angels' wings did not turn to ash when they were removed. It made no sense.
Laphelle took another step closer.
The church's presence overwhelmed him; the space behind the large stained-glass windows held a power he did not understand. There was good and there was evil. How could one be stronger than the other? Both had equal times of the day and night, half dark, half light. How could light be stronger?
He broke into a slow walk. His heart's pace increased with his footsteps. Was there a median? A possibility of being on both sides? A twilight for the forces? Or was it simply light, or darkness, and no in-betweens?
The sun began to rise, and he reached the cathedral's arched wooden doors.
There had to be a middle ground. He could not fight for evil, nor join the side of good. But such a choice would surely land him into exile if anyone found him. He was now an outcast, a disgrace among the Fallen, a rebel of rebels. Could it be that he was different from the rest now? Not an angel of light, not an angel of darkness, but merely an angel? Did he truly want to be on his own?
Looking at the doors' metal handles, he let out a long, apprehensive sigh.
Or did he want to turn away from the darkness entirely, and join the side of light? Perhaps it was stronger. He did desire power. And above that, Lucifer would be livid at such behavior, thus rewarding Laphelle his revenge for not being named an Elitist.
But secretly, all excuses aside, Laphelle longed for the light. He longed to return, to figure out the mystery of his past, of the violin, of the memories that refused to surface.
He reached out a steady arm and touched the handle.
It did not burn his hand…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
C.J. Sullivan is a native Texan who appreciates both the quiet simplicity of the state's countryside and the exciting color of its major cities. When she's not lost in the world of her angels, she reads every genre of literature, watches and re-watches cult classic movies, and obsessively de-clutters and redecorates her house. Visit her blog online: http://cjsullivanauthor.blogspot.com/.
Wings of the Divided: The Divided Book 1 Page 32